


questionable liberty.

by magicpaintbrush



Category: Awesome Land (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Other, Presentable Liberty AU, taylor fucks shit up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicpaintbrush/pseuds/magicpaintbrush
Summary: this was written by my qpp but he doesnt have ao3 lol





	1. ideas

Sometimes, you just know life will get better. No matter where you are, no matter how terrible it all is, life will get better. And if you honestly believe that, you are either a facebook mommy who is definitely going to post that on her timeline, or a genius scientist locked up in a psychiatric hospital. Taylor was the latter.  
He was 'organizing' his desk( read: moving the mess from here to there), and one of the new interns stepped into the room. He knew they had to have been new, because the waltzed into his room like it was nothing, and then walked over to hover behind him and watch.  
Annoyed, he turned around. "What the hell are you doing here? I'm busy. I don't need any company."  
Standing there, startled he had been noticed, was a new intern. The blonde one, with the trim and proper hair, the nice clothes. Taylor took him in quickly, and then looked right up, into his eyes.  
"Oh, oh, sorry," he said, putting up his hands in front of him. Taylor sighed.  
"I'm not going to fucking bite you or anything. But I am busy, and I'd appreciate if you just said what you needed to and left."  
He started wringing his fingers. "Oh, I just... wanted to drop in, and I, just... wanted to introduce myself? Get to know you a little?"  
Taylor sighed once more. It was obvious this little runt was scared of him. Why waste his time? "Well, you know my name. Plastered on the plaque outside the door," he spat.  
"I-I'm Charles."  
Taylor turned back to the table he was 'cleaning', scoffing, "Great."  
Charles stood still, but Taylor knew he was waiting for something. He had expected him to go wander his cell or something, but he seemed to scared to move. Letting out one long, last sigh, he pulled himself away again.   
"So, Charles, I don't know... tell me about yourself. Or. Something."  
Charles perked up, and moved to lean on the table next to him. He seemed immediately more comfortable, now being invited. "Well, I go to school just a few miles north of here. I'm friends with the other new interns. They just moved here, did you know that? Oh, and I live in a giant mansion. It's huge. Full of stuff."  
Taylor nodded. He was mostly uninterested, but the other attendants would probably praise him for letting this new kid go off. He admired his nails for a second, picked at one, then he started listening.  
"My parents are so rich! We have servants, too. They're nice and they do what I say!"  
"How did you get all of this?" he asked suddenly. Charles seemed startled, breaking out of his rant about his lavish life.  
"I... I don't know. They have a good job, make a lot of money."  
Taylor nodded.  
He spent the next half hour listening, semi-silent, only breaking the silence to add a "oh, ok" or "I see". He was listening, but it was half assed. When Charles stopped for a breath, he pulled himself from his inner plans.  
"Wait, wait-- I have a question."  
Charles was, as he seemed to be very often, spooked by his interjection. "Oh, sure! Go ahead."  
"How would... I don't know... someone like me make some money? Some of the kind you have?" The question came out slowly, very calculated. He had been planning how to ask this for a while now. He forced himself into his 'pitiful, curious, locked up kid' persona for a minute.  
Charles grinned. "There's a lot of ways to do that! You could get a job, maybe make things and sell them online, all kinds of stuff. I'm sure the hospital would let you."  
Taylor put a few pieces together in his mind. "How do I make something people will buy?"  
"That's not as easy as it looks," he said, chuckling. "You have to know what the masses are wanting, what they would buy. And that's kind of difficult from... your situation, no offense."  
"What if I find a way to make them want what I make?"  
Charles made a satisfied smile. "Then, my friend, you have a business."  
Taylor quickly tapped his watch, which he made, which was programmed to beep like he had an event. "Oh, no. It seems my time is cut short. You have to go now, Charles." Charles blinked a few times.   
"Oh? Oh, ok. Do you mind if I ask why?"  
Taylor put on a disappointed expression. "Visiting hours are over."  
Charles nodded, ignorant. Then he waved goodbye and skipped out the door, and Taylor shut it behind him. He turned back to his work table. He snickered to himself. Visiting hours? There were none! He was a genius.  
He pulled a pencil from the pile, and a few clean sheets of paper, and began to furiously put his thoughts into words.


	2. favors

One week and three days after the first day Charles visited him, Taylor was ready. He knew exactly what he was going to do and exactly how. He had readied small canisters, so small they would be unnoticeable, and he had placed them where he knew people would be.

The day of the talent show was the day he would release the pathogen. And that day was tomorrow. He had placed the canisters last night, and wired them that morning, before any workers were up to notice.

When the school interns finally arrived, he was right there by the door. He could see that some people were surprised, and many were intimidated. They all paid him a wide berth as they entered.

But he reached out, and he grabbed the little blonde by the shoulder. Charles nearly jumped out of his own skin, but still turned to smile at him, excited.

“Taylor!” he chirped, breathing unsteadily from the scare, but still seeming happy to see him. Taylor smiled back. “Come over here,” he said. “I wanna ask you a favor.”

Charles nodded, obviously excited. Taylor grabbed his hand( he squeaked at the touch, but followed nonetheless,) and he led him off, down the hall, into his room. He didn’t close the door, merely moved Charles to the side of it.

“Charles,” he started, his voice low, capturing all of the little one's attention.

“You have been nothing but kind to me. And because of that, I believe we can consider ourselves friends, right?” Charles nodded excitedly.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Charles got the cutest, goofiest grin on his little face. “Of course, my friend!”

“Don’t come to the talent show tomorrow. And don’t visit your friends after it. Don’t even leave your house. No matter what, stay inside. Close the windows and glue the doors shut. Don’t you dare let anything into your house, hear me?”

His face crumbled as more words came out of Taylor’s mouth. He started breathing worse, and his eyebrows furrowed. “What… what do you mean, Taylor?”

Taylor bit his lip. For the little he knew this kid, he had given him his most genius idea yet. He owed it to him.

“Just… trust me. Take it from a friend.”

Charles gulped, but he nodded.

“And don’t tell anyone else about this, okay? It’s a secret among friends.”

Charles nodded, and Taylor moved to push past him and leave, but Charles grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him back. Looking up at him with those sweet little eyes, in that all too cute little voice, he pleaded, “Please don’t do anything bad. Be safe, okay, Taylor? Somebody cares about you.”

Taylor smiled again, and found himself leaning down to hug him. Charles hugged him back, tightly. They pulled apart, and both found their way out into the wall. Taylor did one last run of the grounds to confirm his wiring was hidden properly, then headed back to his room to look over his plans one more time.

As the sun set, Taylor laid in his bed. He wanted to sleep early, so he’d have the energy to face the next day. He couldn’t get his grin off of his face.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be my day,” he pledged, shifting in his cot, “I’m gonna be the richest man alive."


End file.
